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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23839396">Requiem for the Apostle</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alphawave/pseuds/Alphawave'>Alphawave</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Disco Elysium (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Detective Noir, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, POV Second Person, Slow Burn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 19:01:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,724</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23839396</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alphawave/pseuds/Alphawave</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Kim Kitsuragi wakes up with no memory of the case he was working on, involving a corpse with strange, ritualistic markings on it. To make matters worse, he now has voices talking to him in his head (24 to be exact), who seem keen to tell him everything about the world and the case, AND his old partner, Lars 'Lucky' Langley, has since gone missing.<br/>By retracing his footsteps with Lieutenant Harry du Bois by his side, will he be able to crack this case wide open and become more than partners?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Harry Du Bois/Kim Kitsuragi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>60</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Control</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I now have a Twine game of this very first chapter. If you want to play an interactive version of this fanfic (with some additional choices), check it out <a href="https://alphawave.itch.io/requiem-for-the-apostle"><strong>here!</strong></a></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><strong>ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN </strong>— Well, isn't this a treat? You get to bathe in warm, primordial blackness. You got your wish. You found what you were looking for in the inky depths of despair. A nugget of truth. A sprig of madness. You've done it.</p><p><strong>YOU — </strong>What…?</p><p><strong>ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN </strong>— You're scared, but that's alright, little man. Let the darkness wash over you. Don't think. Don't breathe. Let the memories wash away like rain on glass windows.</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— I'm not little, and I'm certainly not scared. What the fuck are you? What memories?</p><p><strong>ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN </strong>— Don't you see, little man? This ain't your world. No need to worry about anything anymore. Forget the rules, forget the pain and suffering. Make the darkness your friend, your lover. Hehe…I'm sure he'll treat you right.</p><p><strong>LIMBIC SYSTEM </strong>— Your tired, old meat sack is but a whisper in the wind. It's thin, pale, weak. Past its prime. With the crimson dawn, rubies spill from your lips and stain your chest with all its rich, delicious spoils.</p><p><strong>YOU</strong> — Wait, are you saying I'm bleeding?</p><p><strong>ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN</strong> — Concentrate on the pain, little man. Don't worry about the past. Let the memories all spill down into the drains, feeding the maggots and the insects.</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— Enough of this. You’re hiding something from me. Spill it.</p><p><strong>ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN </strong>— You sure?</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— I said, spill what you know, <em>now!</em></p><p><strong>ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN </strong>— Oh no, Kimchi. I’m afraid I can’t do that. See, I don’t hold the answers, I just tell you the truths you know deep down. I know everything you refuse to remember. The horrible snippets of your life, the unpaid sacrifices, played and replayed until your body slumps dead in a ditch somewhere.</p><p>I remember all that you remember.</p><p>And baby, you’ve already forgotten.</p><p><strong>YOU</strong> — Forgotten what?</p><p><strong>ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN </strong>— See? You don’t even know what you’ve forgot. You’ve forgotten what you forgot about.</p><p>You’ve already lost.</p><p>And you’ll keep losing.</p><p>Every loss, a cut. Every cut, a bit of you is taken away.</p><p>Piece by itty bitty piece.</p><p>Better remember quick, Kimchi. Don't wanna lose control, don't you?</p><p><strong>ENDURANCE </strong>[Godly: Success] — Your heart pumps. Life filters through the tiny vessels of your body. A surge of energy surrounds you and soon your eyes open.</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— You jolt up and find yourself in a hospital bed. Your skin is sweaty and clammy and the world is blurry. Whether it's from your tears or something else, you have no idea.</p><p><strong>PERCEPTION</strong> (<strong>SIGHT</strong>) [Trivial: Failure] — You can make out some drab blue walls and what looks like more empty beds, but that’s all. The world is undefined at the edges, colours and shapes merging together. You can barely make out the edges of objects.</p><p><strong>LOGIC</strong> [Challenging: Success] — You only know it’s a hospital because there are fresh bandages near your throbbing head, and this is the only other place you can conceivably wake up in outside of your apartment.</p><p><strong>COMPOSURE</strong> [Godly: Failure] — You’re not sure your vision is blurry if it’s because of the tears streaming down your face or not.</p><p><strong>PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT </strong>— It’s unbecoming. Sissy behavior. You really are a faggot.</p><p><strong>YOU</strong> — I…what are you guys? Why can I hear these voices?</p><p><strong>LOGIC</strong> [Impossible: Failure] — You don’t know where we come from, just that you can hear us now.</p><p><strong>CONCEPTUALIZATION</strong> [Medium: Success] — You’d remember if you heard these voices before, but you don’t.</p><p><strong>INLAND EMPIRE</strong> [Medium: Success] — Somehow you know that we will be here from now until death or eternity, and that you will never be able to get rid of us.</p><p>We are a part of you, and you are a part of us.</p><p>Forever.</p><p><strong>YOU</strong> — No, wait. This can’t be right. I had thoughts; normal thoughts that didn’t involve random voices speaking in my head. I’m not a psychopath. I’m normal.</p><p><strong>AUTHORITY</strong> — Hell yes we are.</p><p><strong>YOU</strong> — No, not <em>you</em>. Just me. You guys don't belong in my head.</p><p><strong>REACTION SPEED</strong> [Hard: Success] — Your mental debate is interrupted by someone opening a door just outside of your peripheral vision. You quickly snap your head at them.</p><p><strong>PERCEPTION</strong> (SIGHT) [Trivial: Failure] — You still can’t see them even when they get right next to your bed. All you see are patches of green and white and the occasional black. Even from this distance, their face is a blur.</p><p><strong>?????</strong> — The mysterious figure reaches for something next to you.</p><p><strong>HALF LIGHT </strong>[Easy: Success] — Your muscles tense in anticipation, and perhaps even fear.</p><p><strong>?????</strong> — But the figure gently grabs something on the bedside table beside you and and places it gently into your prone hand. Something small but familiar.</p><p><strong>INTERFACING</strong> [Trivial: Success] — Your precious glasses.</p><p><strong>YOU</strong> — You chuck them on and are greeted to the sight of Lieutenant double-Yefreitor Harry du Bois. Your partner. Your confidante. Your best friend.</p><p><strong>RHETORIC </strong>— How far you've fallen, Kim Kitsuragi, to consider this mess of a human being your closest friend.</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS</strong> — “Good to see you’re finally awake, Kim.”</p><p><strong>EMPATHY </strong>[Challenging: Success] — Harry is relieved to see you’re OK. Not relieved enough to suggest you were in anything serious by the fact that he isn’t sobbing into your chest right now, but relieved enough that he felt the need to crouch down so he was at the same head level as you.</p><p><strong>AUTHORITY </strong>— He might cry anyway if you let him. Don't make him.</p><p><strong>PERCEPTION</strong> (<strong>SIGHT</strong>) [Trivial: Success] — Now that you have your glasses on, you can now see the detective properly. His hair is clean and combed, and both his face and clothes look neat, if tacky. The only thing marring his appearance (aside from said clothes) are his ugly mutton chops, and a dark bruise right under his left cheek bone.</p><p><strong>YOU</strong> — You reach up to your face, wondering if you’re bruised yourself…</p><p><strong>PAIN THRESHOLD</strong> [Legendary: Failure] — …and touch a very sensitive and fresh bruise, making you hiss in pain.</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS</strong> — “Nasty scrap you were in, eh?”</p><p><strong>YOU</strong> — Scrap?</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS </strong>— He points to your forehead, as if reading your mind. "You got walloped by a bat. Quite nastily, too. Everybody's surprised you didn't get anything worse than a mild concussion."</p><p><strong>INLAND EMPIRE </strong>[Impossible: Failure] — You don't remember getting into a fight…</p><p><strong>COMPOSURE </strong>[Medium: Success] — …but you don't show it. It'll come to you. It should.</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— "How long have I been out?"</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS </strong>— "Five, maybe six hours?" He shrugs. "Not sure specifically."</p><p><strong>EMPATHY</strong> [Medium: Success] — He hasn't been paying attention to the clock at all. You doubt he knows the time of day himself.</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— You stare out the window, seeing the sky flushed orange and purple and pink. A few clouds hang low in the sky, but otherwise the weather is relatively clear.</p><p><strong>LOGIC </strong>[Trivial: Success] — It must be sunset, putting the current time at approximately 17:00-18:00 hours. If the detective's statement is correct, you were unconscious since 12:00 today.</p><p><strong>CONCEPTUALIZATION</strong> [Formidable: Success] — The colours shift and swirl like blood floating in a pool of water.  </p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— Seriously, I don't know what you voices are, but can you shut up? I can barely think.</p><p><strong>INLAND EMPIRE </strong>[Impossible: Failure] — No.</p><p><strong>AUTHORITY </strong>[Impossible: Failure] — No.</p><p><strong>COMPOSURE </strong>[Impossible: Failure] — Never.</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— Geez, thanks for the vote of confidence.</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS </strong>— He is looking at you curiously, his lucid eyes locking onto your gaze firmly and never letting go.</p><p><strong>PERCEPTION </strong>[Medium: Success] — Harry hasn’t been drinking or doing drugs since your first case together. Everybody says it's a miracle he hasn't relapsed.</p><p><strong>ELECTROCHEMISTRY</strong> [Challenging: Success] — Instead, he’s gotten addicted to two little things: work and you.</p><p><strong>YOU</strong> — He may be addicted to work, but he's not addicted to me. That's ridiculous.</p><p><strong>ELECTROCHEMISTRY </strong>[Easy: Success] — Oh, but it isn't, is it? You've gotten closer to him, and he's gotten closer to you. You can’t deny that. Don't you know you're one hell of a drug? He craves you, and you're putting him in withdrawal.</p><p><strong>AUTHORITY </strong>[Formidable: Success] — You are both cops for the RCM, and partners. Relationships between colleagues is strictly forbidden, and you will not sully yourself by associating yourself with the Detective anymore than necessary.</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS</strong> — "Are you alright, Kim?"</p><p><strong>EMPATHY </strong>[Challenging: Failure] — Is he talking about your injury?</p><p><strong>LOGIC</strong> [Challenging: Success] — Or perhaps he’s talking about the fact you haven't said a word in over a minute.</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— "I'm fine. My head doesn't hurt if that's what you're asking."</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS</strong> — "That's not what I'm concerned about. I'm asking about your partner."</p><p><strong>LOGIC </strong>[Easy: Failure] — Partner?</p><p><strong>INLAND EMPIRE </strong>[Easy: Failure] — What partner?</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— "I'm not sure I understand what you mean. Aren't you my partner?"</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS</strong> — "No. I mean…well, yes, I was, and I am again, but…"</p><p>He pauses for several seconds, his lips pressed tight.</p><p><strong>EMPATHY </strong>[Easy: Success] — He knows something you don't, and he's worried about how you'll react.</p><p><strong>ESPRIT DE CORPS </strong>— His suspicions aren't entirely unfounded.</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS </strong>— "Do you remember what happened earlier today? What lead to you getting walloped on the head?"</p><p><strong>COMPOSURE </strong>[Formidable: Success] — You steel yourself, keeping your face carefully blank.</p><p><strong>DRAMA </strong>[Legendary: Failure] — But Harry is an extraordinarily perceptive man, and he sees through the masks you wear, bixia.</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS </strong>— "Do you remember why you were at the abandoned factory at the Burnt Out Quarter?"</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— The Burnt Out Quarter? Abandoned factory?</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS </strong>— Harry frowns pensively. "What about your friend? Do you know what happened to him?"</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— "Friend? Do you mean Eyes? What happened to him? Is he here?"</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS </strong>— Harry shakes his head microscopically. His brows furrow.</p><p><strong>EMPATHY </strong>[Challenging: Success] — Your friend isn't here. He's never been here. Harry thought you knew where he was.</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— But I don't. I don't know what friend Harry is talking about.</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS </strong>— He slides something towards your hand. Another item from the bedside table.</p><p><strong>INTERFACING </strong>[Trivial: Success] — You'd recognise your trusty notebook anywhere. Even by touch.</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— Flipping through the notebook, you see notes from your past cases. The last few Juvie cases you did, the Hanged Man case where you first met Harry, the extortion case, and many others you've solved over the last few months.</p><p>You flip over to the last couple of pages, detailing the case of a mysterious corpse found near the river, covered in strange, ritualistic cuts over their torso. These notes would make sense with context, but for the life of you, you can't remember a single thing about it. Not how the corpse looks like, not how you made the jump between the corpse and the Burnt Out Quarter, nor how it all connects to the abandoned factory.</p><p><strong>LOGIC </strong>[Challenging: Success] —You must have been in a hurry to not write it down. That, or you were distracted.</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS </strong> — "Kim," Harry says slowly. "'What's the last thing you remember?"</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>—You open your mouth, then close it.</p><p><strong>COMPOSURE </strong>[Formidable: Success] —You swallow tightly, not making a sound.</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— "I remember…it was night. We'd just finished a case and you took me to a local bar to celebrate. And then you did your depressing karaoke song again and they kicked us out for upsetting the mood."</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS </strong>— "So you don't remember the new transfer?"</p><p><strong>AUTHORITY </strong>— Is Harry trying to undermine you? He doesn't need to know you don't remember. Let him connect the dots himself.</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— "No," you admit. "I don't remember. What transfer? Did we get a new cop?"</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS</strong> — "I was worried about this," he chuckled. "Welcome to Amnesia town. Population: us fuckers."</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— "I don't have amnesia…I think."</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS </strong>— He smirks, making his ruddy cheeks ruddier. "I'd think I'd know the symptoms of amnesia, Lieutenant. Do you at least remember what happened? Any details?"</p><p><strong>YOU</strong> — "I'm certain I'd remember if you got us both kicked out of a bar."</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS </strong>— "Humour me. Do you remember what happened?"</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— You roll your eyes at him, then close your eyelids.</p><p><strong>AUTHORITY </strong>— We can speak for you in moments like this. Let me do it. I'll make sure the Lieutenant knows our memory is excellent.</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— Not a chance. I'm not letting some psychotic voices in my head take control of my body. <em>I'll </em>relay it, not you.</p><p><strong>LOGIC </strong>[Medium: Success] — It's become a ritual of you and Harry to head to a bar to relax after a case. If you remember something specific, perhaps it will convince Harry to cease this line of questioning.</p><p><strong>VISUAL CALCULUS </strong>[Medium: Success] — Harry gave you the choice of the bar that night, even though you've never drunk in front of him during these outings. You were tired, so you thought of the one place you could: La Mer. A quiet bar that is, shall we say, very welcoming of the homosexual underground.</p><p><strong>PERCEPTION </strong>[Medium: Success] — Harry sees someone with a drink, thinks it looks cool, and gets it himself. He chugs it down, barely remembering to savor the taste. He promised himself only one, and you're going to make sure it stays one, and he's already drunk it in five seconds.</p><p><strong>ELECTROCHEMISTRY </strong>[Medium: Success] — When Harry finds the karaoke machine, he's in his element. He croons his love song, seeded with all sorts of dirty innuendos, and you think for a moment that he might be capable of the things he sings about. When he dedicates the song to you, as he always does, he does it with a suggestive little wink.</p><p><strong>COMPOSURE </strong>[Legendary: Failure] — Every time he dedicates a song to you, it's to make some part of your body blush. Every time he winks at you, he's trying to get a reaction out of you.</p><p>Unfortunately, he's succeeded on both accounts.</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— He did not get a reaction out of me. And anyways, his <em>next </em>song got us kicked out of the bar.</p><p><strong>ENCYCLOPAEDIA </strong>[Medium: Success] — To be fair, Harry didn't seem to be aware the second song he was singing is attributed to Captain Novac, a government officer who led numerous campaigns against the alternative sexuality communities.</p><p><strong>SHIVERS </strong>[Easy: Success] — The days of homosexuals being forced into hiding for their lives may be over, but the scars still remain.</p><p><strong>VISUAL CALCULUS </strong>— Harry apologised, then offered to take you back to his apartment, as it was closer.</p><p><strong>ELECTROCHEMISTRY </strong>[Medium: Failure] — But you refused. You got yourself a taxi, headed back home.</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— You open your eyes to find Harry observing you quietly, eyes half-lidded.</p><p><strong>EMPATHY </strong>[Challenging: Failure] — Is he…is he falling asleep on us?</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— "Did my story bore you, Lieutenant?"</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS </strong>— "N-no, no. I'm just surprised you remembered all that. If that's the last thing you remember, then you don't remember that detective from your old Precinct transferring over the next morning?"</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— "Next morning?"</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS </strong>— "When he found out you transferred here, he wanted you to teach him. You begged Jean to let someone else do the job, but when he found out what the story is and how you both knew each other, he basically forced you both together, the asshole."</p><p><strong>EMPATHY </strong>[Easy: Success] — There's the lightest hint of a smile on his face. If he was in a higher position and he felt cruel enough, he might have done the exact same thing Jean did.</p><p><strong>AUTHORITY </strong>[Formidable: Success] — Jean's jealous you get to work with a sober Harry, but makes up for it by gossiping about you both to Judit.</p><p><strong>ELECTROCHEMISTRY </strong>— More than once you've heard them call you and Harry <em>born-again lovers</em>.</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— "So who was I forced to partner up with?"</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS </strong>— He smirks. "Guy by the name of Lars Langley."</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— "Lars…"</p><p><strong>COMPOSURE </strong>[Legendary: Failure] — LANGLEY?!</p><p><strong>AUTHORITY </strong>[Formidable: Failure] — <em>That </em>creep followed you into Precinct 41?!</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS </strong>— "You made that exact same face the first time you were told," he smirks.</p><p><strong>LOGIC </strong>[Trivial: Success] — He's talking about that pained, constipated look in your eyes.</p><p><strong>CONCEPTUALIZATION </strong>[Formidable: Success] — Like a fish in a pet shop, knowing and unknowing, trapped in a cage.</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— "I had to babysit Lucky?" You shake your head. "Sometimes I wish that guy got lost."</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS </strong>— "Funny you should mention that, because uhh…well, he's gone."</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— "What do you mean?"</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS </strong>— "I get a call from you directly to my place 08:00 in the morning. Don't know why you were up so early, but I assumed it must have been for a case. By the time I got patched through, you've already hung up on me. When I head to Precinct 41, Jules tells me you called the Precinct. I put 1 and 1 together, arranged a search party, and that's how we found you in the Burnt Out Quarter, unconscious and bleeding on the floor of the abandoned factory."</p><p><strong>EMPATHY </strong>[Legendary: Failure] — There's something else in his story. A detail he chose to omit. But what?</p><p><strong>LOGIC </strong>[Legendary: Failure] — It couldn't be anything important.</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS </strong>— "We searched all over, but we couldn't find your partner. We know he was with you though, according to what you told Jules. We think whoever bashed your head in kidnapped Lucky."</p><p><strong>REACTION SPEED </strong>[Formidable: Success] — There's a twitch in his lips. A microscopic frown that plays on his lips.</p><p><strong>LOGIC </strong>[Legendary: Success] — You know what the Lieutenant is thinking. Best case scenario: Lucky got kidnapped. Worst case scenario: Lucky got kidnapped and killed.</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— And I have no way of knowing who, or how, or why.</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS </strong>— He stands up slowly, brushing his disco pants off. He moves slowly, hesitantly, as if he feels like he should leave but he doesn't want to.</p><p><strong>VOLITION </strong>[Medium: Failure] — You don't want him to either.</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— "So I guess the case is still on?"</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS </strong>— He nods. "Jean wanted me to check your condition. Thought that if you woke up and punched somebody, I could take the blow best."</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— "So he's afraid of getting punched by me?"</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS</strong> — "Are you kidding? You'd give him a run for his lunch money if you tried. Plus, I think he was hoping you'd punch me."</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— The faintest of smiles creeps up your face. "It'd knock some sense into you."</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS </strong>— He leans his head forward. An open target. "Give it a try. It might work."</p><p><strong>YOU</strong> — If anyone needs some sense knocked into them, it's me for having these weird voices in my head.</p><p>You raise your fist up, clenched tight into a ball, and thrust it towards Harry's exposed head.</p><p><strong>PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT </strong>[Formidable: Failure] — But it's no more than a lovetap. Like a teddy bear threw a punch.</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS </strong>— He laughs softly, standing up properly. "Does this mean you need to stay here any longer?"</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— "Fuck no. I'm fine, really, Detective. This is my case, and I'll see it to the end."</p><p><strong>AUTHORITY </strong>— Show him who's boss. Show him you mean business.</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— You take your glasses off and place them back on the bedside table beside you. Then, you tug at the bandages wrapped around your head in one swift motion, letting it cascade down like blood-stained ribbons into your lap. They spool down, spiraling, spiraling, until the bandages are all neatly in your lap.</p><p><strong>COMPOSURE </strong>[Trivial: Success] — Harry thought that was cool.</p><p><strong>EMPATHY </strong>[Trivial: Success] — Harry likes that.</p><p><strong>ELECTROCHEMISTRY </strong>[Trivial: Success] — Harry <em>more </em>than likes that. You might have turned on his light switch right there.</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— You put your glasses back on quickly and hop out of the bed, bandages still in your hands. Harry takes it from you—</p><p><strong>REACTION SPEED </strong>[Heroic: Success] — He shivers slightly when his fingers grazes yours—</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS </strong>— And he scrunches it all up and throws it at the nearest bin. It lands square in the middle. A perfect shot.</p><p><strong>ELECTROCHEMISTRY </strong>— You like <em>that.</em></p><p><strong>YOU</strong> — The two of you slowly walk out of the hospital ward and down to the parking lot where, to your relief, your Coupris Kineema sits, untouched and undamaged.</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS </strong>— "You alright to drive?"</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— "I should be fine."</p><p><strong>PAIN THRESHOLD </strong>[Medium: Success] — Your head still feels a little sore to the touch but it's no longer bleeding, and you didn't feel dizzy at all keeping up with Harry's brisk walking pace. You're good to go.</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS </strong>— "So…because Lucky is gone, and you seem to be all good to go—"</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— "—I'll need a replacement partner?"</p><p><strong>HARRY DU </strong>BOIS —He smiles warmly. "I'm just saying, I just finished up my case earlier today before coming over here, and I'm offering my services. It'll be like the good old times of last week."</p><p><strong>EMPATHY </strong>[Trivial: Success] — He wants to monitor your condition just in case your head injury is worse than it looks. He also likes spending time with you.</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— You smile. "Sure."</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS </strong>— "Wait, really?"</p><p><strong>LOGIC </strong>[Trivial: Failure] — Wait, really?</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— "I might have forgotten the case, yes. I might not remember anything in the last week or so. But I've had to deal with you while you had a midlife crisis about your forgotten identity. Now you'll have to deal with mine."</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS </strong>— "Is this extortion?"</p><p><strong>EMPATHY </strong>[Trivial: Success] — The smile on this face suggests he's playing along.</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— "Let's call it returning the favour." You adjust the glasses on your face. "Tomorrow morning we'll meet at Precinct 41 and discuss our next step. We might be able to retrace our steps from there."</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS </strong>— "The corpse you were investigating might still be in the Morgue. We can take a look there."</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— "Perfect." You head for your beloved Coupris Kineema and pause by the door. "I'll see you tomorrow, detective."</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS</strong> — Harry smiles one of his secret smiles. "See you tomorrow, Kim. And…good to see you're alright. I was worried."</p><p><strong>DRAMA </strong>[Easy: Success] — It is an understatement. He was seriously worried and he is seriously glad to see you are well and good, bixia.</p><p><strong>LOGIC </strong>[Easy: Success] — You could tell him about us, the voices in your head. It’s surely not the same thing as what he claims to have, but he’d understand…wouldn’t he?</p><p><strong>VOLITION </strong>— We can’t give him the satisfaction. He already thinks we’re weak enough as it is. We don’t need to make him even more concerned.</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— You shake your head, chuckling softly. "Don't be," you say. "I'm made from hard stuff."</p><p>With that cool line under your belt, you slip yourself into the driver's seat of the Kineema, let the engine purr underneath you, and drive off into the streets.</p>
<hr/><p><strong>KIM'S APARTMENT </strong>— It's nightfall by the time you enter your apartment. You flicker on the lights, lock the door behind you, and let its humble atmosphere overwhelm you.</p><p><strong>PERCEPTION (SIGHT) </strong>[Easy: Success] — The furniture is sparse, but the place is far from lifeless. There is a huge collection of books near a comfy couch and an even comfier reading chair. The walls are a light cream colour that resembles eggshells, or bird poop. Behind the closed door to your bedroom are the softest orange bedsheets settled amongst fluffy light-green pillows.</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— You head to the fridge and scrounge up the quickest dinner you can muster: a simple omelette, and eat it quickly but politely, making sure to chew with your mouth closed, never lingering on a particular flavour tone for too long.</p><p><strong>INLAND EMPIRE </strong>— A stern older woman looks down at all the young children before her, all different races and creeds of life before coming into her care. She pulls a girl by the top of her ears for chewing too loudly. All the other children look down and continue eating, trying not to swallow too loud. It hurts, but the children would rather endure her punishment compared to the punishments of her husband.</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— You finish up your dinner quickly, wash it and dry it in the sink. You head for the balcony, hands already reaching for the chestnut-scented cigarettes you always keep on hand. You take the cigarette up to your lips, flicking the light of your lighter on.</p><p><strong>ELECTROCHEMISTRY </strong>— Oh yeah, that's the good stuff, isn't it? The sweet, sweet nicotine. Your daily bit of sin. The one addiction you will give yourself.</p><p><strong>AUTHORITY </strong>— But we all know your true addiction is to control. You like the idea of controlling when and where you can take your daily cigarette. You crave the idea of dominating this one bit of weakness, of curbing it to a small routine that you control. You can quit any time you want, but you don't. Harry's addicted to physical things. You're addicted to concepts.</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— You take a slow drag from your cigarette, the grey plumes rising up to the clouds, taking away all the sadness and bitterness of Revachol and Elysium and turning it all into ash. With every puff, you feel your mind get a bit clearer, like whatever was congesting your head is now disappearing. You've felt this before, but it feels more extreme now. Like your senses are heightened.</p><p><strong>CONCEPTUALIZATION </strong>[Impossible: Success] — Colours you couldn't see before shimmer in front of you. The night and the day join as one in holy matrimony.</p><p><strong>PERCEPTION</strong> [Impossible: Success] — The tiniest speck in one of the apartment buildings. A man, pressed against the curtains, making love to another, bigger man, their silhouettes obscuring their depraved act from all but the peepers. Well, that, and the most observant people, such as yourself.</p><p><strong>INLAND EMPIRE </strong>[Impossible: Success] — You see a clear picture of Harry in your mind's eye, impossibly detailed right down to the leather shoes. He gives you that tired smile, the one when he's had enough, when he knows he has to try something stupid, and then he grabs your face and kisses you square on the lips.</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— In the real world, you take another slow drag.</p><p>In Kim's World, you force his lips away, only so you can kiss him properly yourself. Harry submits pitifully, weakly, beautifully.</p><p><strong>INLAND EMPIRE </strong>[Impossible: Failure] — Before your imaginary counterpart might slide Harry's mouth open, let their tongue plunge deep into Harry's throat and give you an idea of how Harry might taste like without booze and drugs on his breath, the vision vanishes, and the dark skyline of Revachol opens up for you once more.</p><p><strong>LOGIC </strong>[Challenging: Success] — The nicotine's initial kick has worn off. The world is slowly returning to normal, as are your senses.</p><p><strong>ELECTROCHEMISTRY </strong>— You can't deny it. You got a bit excited from that image. Of Harry kissing you so tenderly. So <em>desperately</em>.</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— Perhaps…but nothing will ever happen between us.</p><p><strong>AUTHORITY </strong>[Medium: Success] — Of course you'll never let Harry get that close. You are partners. Members of the RCM. Fraternising with your half-brother like that is incestuous and wrong.</p><p><strong>VOLITION </strong>[Medium: Success] — Even if you weren't, you won't let yourself be so weak as to let Harry kiss you first. He needs to let you know you're in charge. You're the one that calls the shots in that relationship.</p><p><strong>HALF LIGHT</strong> [Medium: Success] — There'll be less pain that way.</p><p><strong>ELECTROCHEMISTRY </strong>[Medium: Success] — But you do want him. You've never fantasised so much about kissing one man before in all your life.</p><p><strong>AUTHORITY </strong>[Medium: Success] — You only allow yourself one addiction. What will it be? The cigarette, or Harry?</p><p><strong>SHIVERS </strong>[Heroic: Success] — Both will lead to an early grave.</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— One final drag of the cigarette, one final plume, before you butt it out into the smoking tray. You take a cold shower, dry yourself off, and then throw yourself at the bed, curling up under the covers, naked like the day you were born.</p><p>As you close your eyes, you wonder for a minute what would happen if you were given that choice. A cigarette a day, or Harry from now until eternity, sober and kind and at the peak of his prime.</p><p>You think of the rigidity of your life structure. How Harry has disrupted it from your very first meeting. You think of the cigarette, always the same, never better or worse, a stark comparison to Harry, who has his fair share of good days and bad days in the short time you've worked together. You think of Harry's horrible penchant for karaoke, and his terrible taste in clothes, and the way his sweat stinks of booze, even when he hasn't been drinking.</p><p>You want to say you'd prefer the cigarette.</p><p><strong>VOLITION </strong>[Impossible: Failure] — But you know, deep down, that if you are given that choice, you will always choose Harry.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Birthright</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><strong>YOU</strong> — It's exactly 08:00 in the morning when you enter Precinct 41. Compared to your previous workplace, Precinct 57, it's almost exactly the same. The building is faded and chipping away, with the office and its workers running on fumes. It's hot and humid and sticky, with paperwork piling up everywhere. The only empty space is right next to the molds growing on the wall like vines on a trellis. There's still the daydrinkers, the cops that sleep all day, the racist bullies that want a chance to flex their muscles, and the lustful perverts ogling at scantily clad women in magazines. By now you've learned not to judge your fellow half-brothers. They're all coping mechanisms for what is essentially under appreciated, underpaid, and unsatisfying work. That's not to say it's completely the same. At least Precinct 57 had a decent few Mesquites and Seolites in their ranks—whether born and raised in their home isolas or Revacholieres in all but appearance such as yourself—and that gave a bit of variety with your coworkers. Precinct 41 however consists <span>almost purely </span>of true blue Revacholieres, with the odd individual from Graad. Just because Precinct 57 is more diverse doesn't mean the people there can't be racists, it's just that the people who worked there were encouraged to be racist behind closed doors. In Precinct 41, not so much.</p><p><strong>REACTION SPEED </strong>[Formidable: Success] — As you walk to your desk you hear a Patrol cop whisper "Fucking Seolite" under their breath.</p><p><strong>LOGIC </strong>[Trivial: Success] — There's only one 'Seolite' in Precinct 41, or at least one half-Seolite. They can only be talking about you.</p><p><strong>COMPOSURE </strong>[Trivial: Success] — You've heard it too many times before, these racist remarks behind your back. It won't affect you today, just like it won't affect you ever.</p><p><strong>AUTHORITY </strong>[Trivial: Success] — It's still so stupid though. You're a proud Revacholiere, just like the rest of them, you only look like a Seolite. You should storm in there and tell them so. You're a detective and they're just a cop. You have the upper hand. They will bend to your will.</p><p><strong>VOLITION </strong>[Easy: Success] — Do you want to get us kicked out of the RCM? Just take it like a man. Like you've always taken it.</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— You take a seat at your old, hand-me-down desk opposite Harry's. Despite being the exact same make and colour, it's impossible to mistaken your desk for his. Your desk is clean and tidy, with all your paperwork sorted into a neat pile. Harry's desk is surprisingly not the messiest in the precinct, but compared to yours it looks like a dumpster. Papers are strewn all over in no discernible fashion. Handwritten notes are pinned on a corkboard which takes up way too much room, the rambling handwriting difficult for all but Harry and Jean to read (it's only through experience that you are now able to decipher Harry's script). There is a system in his mess, just like there’s a system to the insane logic inside Harry’s bizarre yet brilliant mind, but very few have had the opportunity (and patience) to see the patterns.</p><p>In that regard, you're one of the lucky ones. Or unlucky ones, depending on who you ask.</p><p><strong>ENCYCLOPEDIA </strong>[Medium: Success] — This desk actually used to belong to Satellite-Officer Jean Vicquemare. Your <em>original </em>desk, the one you were supposed to be assigned to, is much further away at the end of the room and is much more cramped and much less nice than this one. However, Jean was only too happy to let you take his desk and move all his stuff as far away from Harry as humanly possible. Even if you didn't see Jean move all his stuff away from here, you would be able to tell this desk once belonged to him by the scent of powerful medication emanating from a single locked drawer to your right, which you refuse to touch.</p><p><strong>PERCEPTION </strong>[Easy: Success] — You hear a yawn, then a groan, as Lieutenant double-Yefreitor Harry du Bois plops his way down onto his seat.</p><p><strong>LOGIC </strong>[Medium: Success] — Judging by the humongous kebab in his hands and the obnoxious level of sauce on his face, it's safe to say that this is his breakfast.</p><p><strong>SAVOIR FAIRE </strong>[Medium: Success] — Could he at least try to eat with his mouth and not his beard? They're not called mutton chops because there's food in those locks.</p><p><strong>ELECTROCHEMISTRY</strong> [Formidable: Success] — Though they <em>are </em>rather luscious locks. Wonder if they're as soft to the touch as they look.</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— "Harry…" You say, voice rising slightly in warning. You point at the little bit of orange marring his face.</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS </strong>— "Huh? Oh, sorry." He fishes out a handkerchief from his jacket and wipes his face messily before licking the sauce away from the handkerchief.</p><p><strong>REACTION SPEED </strong>[Formidable: Success] — It's definitely the handkerchief you gave him all the way back from the Hanged Man case. You'd recognise those initials anywhere. You forgot to ask it back.</p><p><strong>VISUAL CALCULUS </strong>[Medium: Success] — Before Harry wiped his face with it, it was completely clean. He's been washing it, caring for it. He treasures it.</p><p><strong>VOLITION</strong> [Legendary: Success] — There's still a stain on the edge of his lip that Harry keeps missing. It takes all your willpower not to reach over and wipe it off yourself.</p><p><strong>ELECTROCHEMISTRY</strong> [Medium: Success] — Are we not going to talk about Harry's tongue, because whoo boy, it's long. Just the way we like it.</p><p><strong>YOU</strong> — "You kept the handkerchief?"</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS </strong>— "Why not? It's pretty nice and I like it." His lips dip into a half-frown. "Oh, do you want it back?"</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— "Just…keep it," you shake your head. "Consider it a present."</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS </strong>— Harry relaxes and neatly folds the handkerchief back into his jacket.</p><p><strong>PERCEPTION (SIGHT) </strong>[Medium: Success] — He looks like a child that's been told they can have a cookie. Or a hand embroidered handkerchief.</p><p><strong>RHETORIC </strong>[Medium: Success] — Does Harry even know you hand embroidered it yourself?</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS</strong> — "So Jean’s officially assigned me as your partner for this case. Our number one objective is to find Lucky at the moment. If we solve the murders, that's a bonus as far as they're concerned."</p><p><strong>YOU</strong> — You nod grimly. "I assume these are the Captain’s words, not Satellite-Officer Vicquemare’s."</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS</strong> — "It totally sucks, I know, but that’s our orders."</p><p><strong>YOU</strong> — "And do they know about my…medical condition?"</p><p><strong>RHETORIC</strong> [Medium: Failure] — You can’t help but wince at your own words.</p><p><strong>PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT</strong> [Godly: Success] — You better thank me the only sign of injury on you is a light bruise on your head, completely obscured by your hair.</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS</strong> — "I almost did, but I decided not to. Can’t let them know they now have two amnesiac cops in their precinct."</p><p><strong>YOU</strong> — "It’s different. You’ve literally forgotten everything. I’ve only forgotten the last week."</p><p><b>LOGIC </b>[Trivial: Success] — The most important week.</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS</strong> — He shakes his head forlornly. "Still. Don’t need another reason for Jean to separate me from you."</p><p><strong>RHETORIC</strong> [Formidable: Success] — There’s deeper meaning to his words. He fears separation. Not just physical separation, but a spiritual one. A bond he hopes will never break or slip away.</p><p><strong>AUTHORITY </strong>[Easy: Success]— A bond you will perfectly curate. The perfect distance. No further. No closer.</p><p><strong>ELECTROCHEMISTRY</strong> [Medium: Success] — No weaker, but no stronger. You won’t push him away, but you won’t let him closer either, even though it hurts.</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS</strong> — "So. I'm assuming you read up your case notes. Fill me in?"</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— You take your notebook out, just so you can refer back just in case.</p><p><strong>CONCEPTUALIZATION </strong>— It's easier for you to read than hear your thoughts. Even now you give us life not through voices but with type-written words flashing before your eyes. Text flying across your vision as though it comes from a world-class computer.</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— "The corpse was found in Villalobos, near but not on Mesque gang grounds. For the first few days of my investigation, it was just known as Corpse#1, but later I found out the corpse was named Santiago Velez, an immigrant from Mesque. Medium height and build, no unusual features except for these ritualistic cuts all throughout his torso. Throughout the investigation we found out that these cuts were performed while he was alive. Cause of death was blunt force trauma."</p><p>You flip your notebook to the next page where a rough diagram of the corpse's markings is on full display. You slide the notebook over to Harry so he can take a look. He does not take it, just peers over the low boundary between your desks. He winces.</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS </strong>— "Nasty shit. Also, did I mention you cannot draw?"</p><p><strong>HAND/EYE COORDINATION </strong>[Medium: Failure] — What are you expecting me to say? You can't draw shit. You haven't even mastered the fine art of the humble stickman.</p><p><strong>AUTHORITY </strong>[Medium: Success] — But he doesn't need to know that.</p><p><strong>VISUAL CALCULUS </strong>[Medium: Success] — He also doesn't need to know that this is <em>not</em> your handiwork. Your previous attempts at drawing are <em>far </em>worse than this. These drawings were ripped out from someone else's notebook and added to yours. This was Lucky's handiwork.</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— "Drawing skills were never a prerequisite for becoming an officer of the RCM. And anyway, I have a photograph as well from the initial autopsy." You hand that also to Harry, who takes one glance and grimaces.</p><p><strong>ENDURANCE </strong>[Easy: Success] — The green on his face is a bit too close to the colour of his shoes, but at least he does not vomit.</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS </strong>— "These markings. They look like Mesque iconography. Like the brands they would put on criminals that were sent out into the community."</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— "A dead end according to my notes. This body has been cut by two different blades. The Mesque iconography was just to throw us off the scent, to pin it on one of the gangs."</p><p>You flip over to the next page and show two more drawings Lucky had made, this time of the cuts on the body separated by which blade made them. They're slightly better in quality, and therefore slightly more horrifying.</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS </strong>— Harry glances at your notebook and groans. "Fuck, can I at least finish my kebab before you show me this?"</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— "Wouldn't that give you more room to savour what's left of your food?" You raise an eyebrow.</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS </strong>— "Kim, please."</p><p><strong>YOU</strong> — "What is it that the Satellite-Officer says? Toughen up, shitkid?"</p><p><strong>PERCEPTION (HEARING) </strong>[Medium: Success] — Somewhere behind you, you hear Satellite-Officer Jean Vicquemare shout "Damn fucking straight!" before disappearing out of sight.</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS </strong>— Harry buries his free hand into his greasy hair. "I fear the day you two work together and gang up on me."</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— "I'll be sure to let him know you're so eager to get rid of me."</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS </strong>— "That's not what I mean, I…" He huffs, his red cheeks getting redder. "Just tell me about the drawings already."</p><p><strong>YOUR NOTEBOOK </strong>— You look down at the two drawings. Of the two, the first picture is the more interesting one. There are swirling shapes within these cuts, not angular and straight as you'd expect from a knife. The marks don't make much sense. There are two ovals on both sides of the victim's chest, a spiral near the stomach, and a few other intricate marks that don't make much sense to you. Whoever made these markings had plenty of experience cutting skin into these intricate shapes. They had to be an artist, or someone who's used to cutting meat, like a butcher. It's possible the murderer learned this skill from cutting animals. You don't discredit the possibility however that there's been many more victims before this one, each a new canvas to practice on.</p><p>The second picture is less interesting, but has its own story to tell. On its own it looks like a random jumble of tiny cuts. The blade used for this one is wielded by someone else with less artistic skill, making the more normal straight cuts. The person who made the second set of cuts must have been Mesque or involved with Mesque gangs, because of the use of certain lesser-known Mesque gang iconographies such as the old Franconigerian motto for Mesque: <em>en mis dominios no se pone el sol.</em></p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS </strong>—  He points at the phrase. "What does that mean?"</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— "<em>In my domains, the sun does not set. </em>It was once attributed to Franconegro when he incited his citizens to fight back against the Army of Humanity led by Dolores Dei. It did not go well."</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS </strong>— "And what is it attributed to now?"</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— "The Mazda. If you think about it, it's clever. They did close off a street in Villalobos. If you look at The Mazda as the sun, then the sun truly does not set in their domain. If you've been working for the RCM as long as you have, you would have encountered this phrase eventually. A lot of Mesquites involved in the gangs have this as a tattoo."</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS </strong>— "Until I forgot literally everything."</p><p><strong>EMPATHY </strong>[Medium: Success] — There's a bit of sadness in his voice, but also acceptance. He tries not to think too much about the things he's forgotten. If they haven't come back by now, they never will.</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— "Does the phrase ring a bell?"</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS </strong>— He shakes his head. "Don't remember it, and I haven't heard it either. Is it commonly known?"</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— "Amongst Precincts 41 and 57? Yes. Amongst the populace? No. Most people try to avoid the Mesque gangs. They certainly wouldn't want to get close enough to know what their mottos are."</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS </strong>— "So if it's not that common, doesn't that mean the second guy who carved it was involved with The Mazda?"</p><p><strong>LOGIC</strong> [Medium: Success] — You must have considered it at one point judging by your notes. But there's nothing else to confirm or deny that theory, and you didn’t seem to pursue that lead later on.</p><p><strong>ESPRIT DE CORPS</strong> [Formidable: Success] — You would have pursued it, but something stopped you. A piece of evidence you didn’t write down. A certain trainee detective meddling with your affairs. </p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— "It’s possible, I admit, but we don’t have any evidence. Either way, forensic analysis did confirm that these two different cuts were both made within an hour of each other. At least two people are involved in this murder, if not more."</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS</strong> — He strokes his chin thoughtfully. "Interesting, interesting."</p><p><strong>RHETORIC</strong> [Medium: Success] — He has no idea what to make of all this so far. </p><p><strong>COMPOSURE </strong> [Medium: Success] — You don't either. Not that Harry knows.</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS</strong> — Harry snaps his fingers. "You must have processed the body, right? It’s barely been a week, there’s a chance it’s still in the Morgue."</p><p><strong>YOU</strong> — "Probably, but it’s unlikely. We go through a lot of corpses in a week's time. It might not be there."</p><p><strong>LOGIC</strong> [Easy: Success] — Although you do have the corpse’s processing ID number. You can always ask.</p><p><strong>INLAND EMPIRE</strong> [Medium: Success] — Good thing you have the amnesiac by your side again.</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS</strong> — He taps your notebook. "You have the ID number. We can check it out, I can always pretend to forget everything."</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— "But you really don't know anything about it."</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS</strong> — "Then my dazzling performance will be all the more believable then." He winks.</p><p><strong>EMPATHY </strong>[Formidable: Success] — Even if he did know something, he likes pretending not to know anything if it gets him what he wants.</p><p><strong>SUGGESTION </strong>[Medium: Success] — And what he wants, apparently, is to spend time with you.</p><p><strong>ELECTROCHEMISTRY </strong>[Legendary: Success] — He wants you bad.</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— He does not want me badly. You guys are just saying stuff because you're part of my imagination or something.</p><p><strong>REACTION SPEED </strong>— Have you been imagining about Harry recently?</p><p><strong>ELECTROCHEMISTRY </strong>[Easy: Success] — It's probably easier to ask when have you <em>not </em>been imagining about Harry?</p><p><strong>INLAND EMPIRE </strong>[Legendary: Success] — <em>Harry is on his back. You're crouched on top of him. Your hands are on his throat and the sun's light is behind you. You are the sun and he is the moon, reflecting your brilliance back. You're stronger than him, could burn him into a crisp, but you can't and you won't. His skin is pale and full of craters, but kissed by the sun's light, it would light up brilliantly. He can eclipse you perfectly. Together, you can make a true spectacle.</em></p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— I'll make a spectacle of myself if I did that.</p><p><strong>COMPOSURE </strong>[Medium: Success] — You probably will.</p><p><strong>AUTHORITY</strong> [Heroic: Success] — But you won't.</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— You stand up from your seat, pocketing your notebook into your jacket. "Come on. Let's go then and check up this lead."</p><p><strong>ESPRIT DE CORPS </strong>[Godly: Success] — He smiles a bit to himself, relishing in the knowledge that you two are partners working a case again. He misses this. Misses the distraction. The camaraderie. </p><p><strong>VOLITION </strong>[Godly: Success] — Harry's hand lies prone by his side, but you do not take it. You walk side by side, a comfortable distance away from each other. </p><p><strong>PATH TO THE MORGUE </strong>— For many logical and logistical reasons the RCM morgue is at the completely opposite end of Precinct 41. It's a long, winding path to the Morgue, such that only the local RCM officers are able to navigate. </p><p><strong>ENCYCLOPEDIA </strong>[Medium: Success] — All morgues within RCM precincts are built this way to prevent the theft of corpses. It doesn't stop thieves from attempting, but if they are able to grab the body they want and get out without being spotted, it's almost seen as an accomplishment. It also doesn't make it easy to put the dead bodies into the Morgue in the first place, which is why it often takes a long time to process a corpse. </p><p><strong>ESPRIT DE CORPS </strong>[Formidable: Success] — It's a common hazing ritual for most new RCM hires to make them do errands between the bullpen and the morgue. You spent days before the transfer documents got officially processed remembering all the routes for the Precinct 41 building so you would be well-prepared if they tried to do the same to you.</p><p>To your relief, they didn't. Though they did plan it. </p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS </strong>— He whistles a song you don't know for half of the journey. When he stops whistling, he asks the question you've been dreading.</p><p>"What's up with you and Lucky?"</p><p><strong>COMPOSURE </strong>[Medium: Failure] — You can't help but grit your teeth at the name.</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS </strong>— "That bad, huh?"</p><p><strong>YOU</strong> — You sigh a little and adjust your glasses. "Lars Langley is the son of one of the founders of the RCM, Luc Langley. He's not a bad kid. Smart, good with people. Wouldn't hurt a fly. I believe so far in his entire career as a young detective, he's only had to use his gun once, which is pretty impressive when he has to work in the Greater Revachol Industrial Harbour."</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS</strong> — "But you don't like him."</p><p><strong>YOU</strong> — "He may have started from the same position as everybody else does, but that doesn't mean he doesn't get some additional 'help'. He's called Lucky in Precinct 57 because he always solves a case. Always. When he doesn't, daddy comes in to sweep everything under the rug or declare it solved anyway. He's the only officer in the RCM so far to have a perfect record. That's how you rise up the ranks, don't you?"</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS</strong> — "So his father plays favourites and that's why you hate him?"</p><p><strong>YOU</strong> — "It'd be one thing if he knew, but Lucky is so naïve that he doesn't even realise what his father's doing. He just thinks he's lucky. Thinks it's all his hard work that got him to where he is, that he deserves a higher rank."</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS</strong> — "You're jealous that he got to the same rank as you in far shorter a time than you."</p><p><strong>COMPOSURE </strong>[Impossible: Failure] — Your face cracks. A grimace escapes your lips, your fists balled up by your side. Anger ripples through your veins.</p><p><strong>AUTHORITY </strong>[Easy: Success] — But you stop and pause. A cool breath is sucked in. Your frustrations are breathed out. You calm down, slowly but surely.</p><p><strong>HALF LIGHT </strong>[Formidable: Success] — You don't want to say it out loud. You don't want to say you're jealous. Admitting it out loud will just give Harry another weakness to exploit.</p><p><strong>ESPRIT DE CORPS </strong>[Easy: Success] — But Harry already knows.</p><p><strong>CONCEPTUALIZATION </strong>[Easy: Success] — It's far from the worst secret you have. He won't judge you for it.</p><p><strong>YOU</strong> — "Year after year I'm pushed aside so others may rise up the ranks. And year after year my friends and comrades die a gruesome, early death because they were not capable. They claim my eyesight is the reason why I can't go any higher. I doubt it's the only reason." You can't hide the venom in your voice.</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS </strong>— Harry nods slowly. "They push you aside. Meanwhile, here I am. Lieutenant double-Yefreitor, and an absolute mess unworthy of my status."</p><p><strong>EMPATHY</strong> [Heroic: Success] — His tone is somber and dejected. He thinks you deserve to be a higher rank than him.</p><p><strong>DRAMA </strong>[Legendary: Success] — Of all the people in the world, he holds you in the highest regard, bixia. That includes himself.</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— You shake your head at him. "You've worked incredibly hard for so many years. It was inevitable that you'd fall for something to cope. But you're getting better."</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS</strong> — "And how would you know that?"</p><p><strong>YOU</strong> — "You're taking it easier—well, relative to your previous workload, if your ledger is to be believed. And you don't stink of Magnesium and alcohol anymore."</p><p><strong>PERCEPTION (Smell) </strong>[Easy: Success] — He smells quite nice actually. A combination of lemon-scented soap and kebab meat.</p><p><strong>ELECTROCHEMISTRY</strong> [Medium: Success] — It'd be even more intoxicating if you got closer. Draw yourself in, get lost in the prismatic disco lights, get wild and boogie down. You know you want to.</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS</strong> — "I’m trying to cut the habit when I can. And I'm taking it easy because Jean's looking for an excuse to kick my ass to the curb. Doesn't stop me from being a massive screwup."</p><p>He breathes out a plume of air. He’s silent for a while. Then, quietly, "You deserve better, Kim."</p><p><strong>RHETORIC </strong>[Formidable: Success] — He's not just talking about a promotion.</p><p><strong>YOU</strong> — "I don't deserve better," you say, barely louder than a whisper. "We get what we deserve. That's why I'm here."</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS</strong> — He turns to stare at you, his piercing gaze taking you apart layer by layer. With his eyes alone he finds the hidden latch to your chest and opens it, holding your lungs with his sweaty, clammy hands. With just a look he has you where he wants you. And what he wants is to know more about you. He has another question on his lips. Another probing question you don't want to answer.</p><p><strong>AUTHORITY</strong> [Godly: Success] — You turn your head and raise one eyebrow at him. A warning shot. The question burns in his throat and is swallowed down like the disgusting bile it is.</p><p><strong>PATH TO THE MORGUE </strong>— The two of you walk down the empty path, alone but never truly alone, together but not together, silent but not truly silent. Unspoken words dangle in the air, so crisp and legible you won't need your glasses to help you pluck them out of the sky. It's not an entirely comfortable silence, but it's the most comfortable silence you can have with another person.</p><p><strong>PERCEPTION (HEARING)</strong> [Medium: Success] — Harry begins to whistle again, low and melancholic and quiet. The same song he whistled on the swing during the Hanged Man case, or something close enough to it.</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— Your puckered lips join in with his melody, and together you create the strangest duet known to mankind.</p><p><strong>SHIVERS</strong> [Impossible: Success] — The Precinct disappears. The world disappears. All that is left is you and Harry and the song filling the distance between your souls and the whispers of Revachol flowing through your veins.</p><p><strong>MORGUE </strong>— The morgue, like the rest of the Precinct, has seen better days. It stinks of decay and herbs, no doubt to hide the scent of rotting corpses but it only makes it worse. Once upon a time the room would be white, but the drains near the floors are caked with an unknown substance, and the off-white is more off than white by a number of unknown substances. In other words, an almost spitting replica of the morgue back at Precinct 57.</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS</strong> — He takes his handkerchief out and retches into it, but does not vomit.</p><p><strong>COMPOSURE </strong>[Legendary: Success] — It's an ungodly stench, to the point that even you feel the urge to gag, but you swallow tightly and the feeling fades.</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS </strong>— Harry is not so lucky. He's only able to suppress so much, but a tiny bit of regurgitated kebab spills down his lips. He groans as he wipes it away before it hits the floor, but he does not retch anymore. Miraculously, he's able to stomach it.</p><p><strong>YOU</strong> — Still, you shake your head at him. "Keep your shit together."</p><p><strong>DIENER</strong> — "This is Lieutenant du Bois we're talking about. I don't think that's possible."</p><p>You turn to observe the only other person in the room. They wear the standard white apron and black garb of a Diener, a mortuary assistant. Their face is sharp and narrow like a blade, and you get the inexplicable feeling that their mind is just as sharp as their face. There's a badge on their lapel with their face and name on it.</p><p><strong>PERCEPTION (SIGHT) </strong>[Formidable: Failure] — Try as you might, there is no decoding the indecipherable handwriting. You can only assume it's a name. </p><p><strong>SAVOIR FAIRE </strong>[Medium: Success] — You're also barely able to decode gender from the person's face. You're unsure if that's a deliberate choice, or if they were born with such an androgynous face and body.</p><p><strong>ENCYCLOPEDIA</strong> [Godly: Success] — It’s becoming a bit of a fashion trend in recent times for the counter culture youth to fight back at the hypersexualisation of women. The more you confuse people about your gender, the better. </p><p><strong>ELECTROCHEMISTRY</strong> [Godly: Success] — Highly doubt it’s a fashion statement for the diener though. They've tailored their appearance very carefully to maintain this image. They've done this for years, turned it into an artform.</p><p><strong>DIENER </strong>— "Lieutenant du Bois, Lieutenant Kitsuragi, I see you two have been partnered up again."</p><p><strong>REACTION SPEED </strong>[Medium: Success] — They almost say "good for you" but stop themselves.</p><p><strong>DRAMA </strong>[Formidable: Success] — They know it would be such an obvious lie, bixia.</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— For formality's sake, you flash your badge long enough for the diener to read it. "Lieutenant Kitsuragi and Lieutenant Du Bois. We are here to inquire about a body for a case I’ve been investigating."</p><p><strong>DIENER</strong> — "Body? What’s the identification number?"</p><p><strong>YOU</strong> — You look back at your notebook to check. "ID number 248765900."</p><p><strong>DIENER</strong> — "That one rings a bell. Haven’t you already looked at it twice now?" They raise a skeptical eye at you, then at Harry.</p><p><strong>EMPATHY</strong> [Easy: Success] — Even they have heard about Harry’s infamous amnesia episode. They’re a little envious Harry’s able to forget just like that. And also worried how he’s going to react this time.</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS</strong> — Before you can reply, Harry cuts in. "I’ve been recently reassigned as Kim’s partner for this case. Need to see it myself."</p><p><strong>DIENER</strong> — "Just don’t stick your fingers into their ass again," they raise their eyebrows at Harry before heading for the records room, closing the door behind them.</p><p><strong>YOU</strong> — You slowly turn your head to Harry. "You stuck your fingers inside someone’s ass?"</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS</strong> — "It was for a case, honest."</p><p><strong>RHETORIC</strong> [Legendary: Success] — The way he phrases it suggests he’s put his fingers up someone’s ass outside of cases as well. Or even his own. </p><p><strong>COMPOSURE</strong> [Legendary: Failure] — You can feel the sweat drip down your forehead, your ears burning up in surprise and maybe even shame.</p><p><strong>ELECTROCHEMISTY</strong> [Trivial: Success] — You’ve seen him without his pants before. Those delectable jeans of his don't leave much to the imagination. You fill in the blanks.</p><p><strong>YOU</strong> — "S-sure, Harry," you say, hoping to steer the conversation somewhere else</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS</strong> — But he’s already moved on to the next topic, head turned to where the Diener disappeared to.</p><p>His voice lowers conspiratorially. Barely a whisper. You already know what he's going to say based on that curious look in his eyes. "You think they’re part of the homosexual underground?"</p><p><strong>YOU</strong> — "I thought I told you to stop obsessing over other people’s sexualities," you whisper back.</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS</strong> — "I mean…y-yeah, but…"</p><p><strong>YOU</strong> — "But nothing. It’s not just heterosexuals and homosexuals, you know. There are people who feel no attraction, or only feel a certain type of attraction. There are some people who think beyond the binary of men and women, who change themselves to be more true to how they see themselves." You straighten your back. "As members of the RCM, it is not our place to judge."</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS</strong> — "And people in the middle?"</p><p><strong>YOU</strong> — "The middle." Your voice rises slightly in tone but it’s still a statement, not a question.</p><p><strong>INLAND EMPIRE</strong> — Could it be the great Lieutenant has finally figured out what he is? Or rather, what type of people he’s attracted to?</p><p><strong>ELECTROCHEMISTRY</strong> [Trivial: Success] — And are we on that list?</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS</strong> — "You know. People in the middle. Not heterosexual, but not fully a member of the homosexual underground. Like Miss Oranje Disco Dancer."</p><p><strong>EMPATHY</strong> [Medium: Success] — He’s trying to not-so-subtly hint he’s bisexual.</p><p><strong>AUTHORITY</strong> [Formidable: Success] — About time.</p><p><strong>YOU</strong> — "They’re the same. Heterosexual, homosexual, people stuck in the middle, it does not, and should not, change the RCM’s opinion about them." You raise one eyebrow at him.</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS</strong> — "And what if they’re not exactly right down the middle? What if they’re tipped towards one end but not completely? More towards the heterosexual side."</p><p><strong>EMPATHY</strong> [Trivial: Success] — He’s not asking about the RCM’s opinion. He’s asking for your personal opinion. Whether you would accept him.</p><p><strong>YOU</strong> — "As I mentioned, the RCM would not judge. But if you’re asking for my personal opinion?"</p><p>You pause, carefully deliberating your words. You look him in the eyes and feel dizzy from the glittering disco lights staring right back at you. You have no choice but to look away.</p><p>"Khm. I suppose I don’t mind at all."</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS</strong> — His pale but ruddy face breaks into a grin. It’s a kind, warm smile. A puppy smile. And then, because he has to rub it in, he gives you a wink and some finger guns.</p><p><strong>INLAND EMPIRE</strong> [Formidable: Success] — Finger guns should be the intersolary symbol for bisexuals, honestly.</p><p><strong>DIENER</strong> — They promptly return from their office with two folders under each arm, none the wiser of your conversation. A fresh pair of gloves has been placed on their hands.</p><p><strong>PERCEPTION (SIGHT) </strong>[Formidable: Success] — Why two folders? You only asked for the records of one body.</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS </strong>— "Hold on, we only asked for the records of one body."</p><p><strong>DIENER </strong>— "Knowing you, you'd ask me to get the records for both victims." They roll their eyes, as if it's obvious. </p><p><strong>EMPATHY </strong>[Easy: Success] — They're well aware of Harry's insistence of following every lead, no matter how ridiculous.</p><p><strong>YOU </strong>— You turn to Harry, who has already turned his head to you. The words escape your lips in chorus with one another.</p><p><strong>YOU AND HARRY DU BOIS </strong>— "Both victims?" You say in unison.</p><p><strong>DIENER </strong>— They ignore you as they head over to the freezer section, where dead bodies sit in cheap caskets. Each of these corpses are blanketed from their head to their ankles, with only their feet sticking out. Each one has a tag on their pinkie toe of their identification number, as well as the person who checked them, their names and age, and any other important details. </p><p>The diener leads you through, past corpse after corpse, until they come to a stop between two corpses. With dramatic gusto, they take the ends of both blankets and pulls them down. </p><p><strong>EMPATHY</strong> [Medium: Success] — They may have been practicing that move for a while. </p><p><strong>CORPSE #</strong>1 — On your left is the corpse you've written notes about. Corpse #1: Santiago Velez. There's a bit of decomposition on his body, mostly at his hands and feet, but the markings on his chest are identical to the photograph. They're even more gruesome up close.</p><p><strong>CORPSE #2 </strong>— On your right is a different corpse. A woman, approximately the same age as Corpse #1. There's a gunshot wound to her temple, and similar markings on her chest carved by a knife, except this time there's no second blade to disguise it as Mesque gang iconography. Her tag gives her the name of Sasha Drugova. </p><p><strong>VISUAL CALCULUS</strong> [Easy: Success] — Apart from their age, they do not resemble each other at all. Corpse #2 has blonde hair and blue eyes and pale skin, but Corpse #1 has tan skin and dark hair and pitch black eyes. The tags suggests they lived in completely different neighbourhoods. </p><p><strong>INLAND EMPIRE </strong>[Medium: Success] — You remember thinking this before. You looked into this. They <em>are</em> completely different from each other. The only thing they have in common are the identical cuts on their chest…</p><p><strong>PERCEPTION (SIGHT) </strong>[Impossible: Success] — …and a lung-shaped birthmark at the centre of their chest, untouched by the blades.</p><p><strong>SHIVERS </strong>[Impossible: Success] — You need to remember those birthmarks. You know it's important somehow. A critical clue in this case. </p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS </strong>— He follows your gaze to the birthmark, recognition sparking before his eyes. He puts on a pair of gloves and presses his fingers to the birthmark of Corpse #1, then Corpse #2. He inhales deeply, as if in a trance. His eyes grow pale.</p><p>"Where was this body found again?" He points at Corpse #2.</p><p><strong>DIENER</strong> — They flip through one of the folders. "The burnt-out quarter. On the shore."</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS </strong>— He points at Corpse #1. "And this one?"</p><p><strong>DIENER </strong>— They consult the other folder. "Villalobos. At the South."</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS </strong>— "Near the shore as well?"</p><p><strong>DIENER </strong>— "Yes, actually. Why do you say that?"</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS </strong>— "These bodies were supposed to be dumped in the water, to be washed away by the waters, but they didn't stay in the water long. There's water in their lungs still, but it got frozen because of the freezer. And the blade. It had their DNA, but also the DNA of many more people. People we haven't identified yet."</p><p><b>DIENER </b>— They look up at Harry, surpised. "They did, actually."</p><p><strong>HALF LIGHT </strong>[Formidable: Success] — You know what he's going to say. You're dreading it.</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS </strong>— "These weren't the only victims, just the most recent two we've found."</p><p><strong>YOU</strong> — "Which means…"</p><p><strong>HARRY DU BOIS</strong> — He nods grimly. "We're dealing with serial killings. And if that's the case? I don't think Lucky is alive."</p><p><strong>PAIN THRESHOLD</strong> [Formidable: Failure] — Your chest hurts. You're seeing blood. You've failed, and this is all your fault. </p><p><strong>YOU</strong> — You try not to show the shock and fear that strikes you when you're weakest.</p><p><strong>COMPOSURE </strong>[Impossible: Failure] — But your lips quiver slightly, but pathetically. </p><p><strong>YOU</strong> — Lucky, wherever you are, I may hate your guts, but…</p><p>…I'm sorry for failing you.</p>
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